A Chance Encounter
by InfinityStar
Summary: The memory of an incident from years earlier returns, not to haunt, but to bring Goren and Eames closer together early in their partnership.
1. The Hooker and the Junkie

Bobby Goren was cold. He pulled his fatigue jacket tighter around him as he stumbled down the street. He looked every bit the junkie he was portraying. He was very good at playing roles, stepping into the skin of someone he wasn't. He'd been doing that for most of his thirty-six years and had it damn near down to a science. But for all his appearances, he wasn't stoned. His mind was sharp as a tack and he was aware of everything around him. He found a nice, sheltered corner beside a dumpster in the shadows of a blind alley. It was a nicer spot than he'd found last night. At least he was out of the wind.

He settled back, pretending to pass out, but he was aware of everything around him. And, with his cap pulled down to hide the fact that he was alert and aware, he watched. Bobby liked to watch. That was something else he'd been doing all his life, something else he was damn good at...watching and reading people. Most people used their vision to see; he used his to observe. Take that guy across the street. Nice business suit...hurrying down the sidewalk, like he was late for a business dinner. Well, he might be late for dinner, but his business was already done. He was still fixing his tie as he hurried along, and there were no business-class restaurants back along the way he was hurrying from. His hair was disheveled and he wore a worried look...rushing home to a cold dinner and probably a colder wife who won't believe him when he tells her he missed his train or had to finish some file at the office for some important client. Yep, there he goes, right toward the subway stairs around the corner on the next block. Home to that nice, angry, suburban wife, in their nice, tidy, suburban home with two-point-four kids and a dog.

He swallowed down his bitterness. He would never understand how a man could have so much and still want more. There were lots of things Bobby was good at, but maintaining relationships was not one of them. Invariably, his girlfriends left, unable to handle his intensity, unable to accept his remoteness. No matter how good he was in bed, no matter how charming he could be, he seemed destined to a life of one night stands and short term relationships. He kept the core of who he was buried deep and well-protected, unwilling to open himself to anyone. He was a very deep and complicated man, but to the outside world, looking in, there wasn't much to see. He was afraid to love and even more afraid to be loved. So he hid behind an unbreachable wall and refused to come out for anyone.

It wasn't much different on the job. If he could find a damn partner who could stick with him for more than a few months, he'd be happy, and so would the captain. Like right now...he was between partners, and if the captain knew he was out here again, with no back-up, he'd suspend him. Unless...if he could bring in this dealer with a solid case against him and another conviction...then he'd just get a talking-to. 'Don't do it again, Goren. You're giving me a damn ulcer, kid.'

But the fact that every single one of his arrests had led to a conviction was nothing to sneeze at. Bobby Goren was a good cop, a very good cop. He did good solid police work. Maybe his methods were unconventional, but he got results, and his confessions stuck. He didn't have a family, so his work was his life, and he put everything into it. Take the job out of the equation, and he'd have nothing...just like his junkie alter-ego. Nothing.

He was shaken from his reverie by a sound...high heels on the pavement. He waited and watched. He saw the legs and a sweet little ass barely hidden by her skirt. Her shirt didn't cover much more. Shit. She must be freezing. He couldn't imagine that fur thing across her shoulders gave her much warmth. She was a tiny little thing. She stopped and turned, looking up and down the street. Young, too, and nervous. Not much more than a kid. The closer he looked, the more convinced he was...she wasn't more than sixteen. Damn...she was just a baby. What the hell was she doing on the street? How bad could life at home have been compared to this? He felt his gut clench when he remembered there was a prostitute killer working this area of town. This little girl had no idea the danger she was placing herself in. It's not like she went home to watch the evening news or read the papers. It was headline news, and he wondered if she even took the time to glance at the headlines of the _Ledger_ in a paperbox or on a newsstand. Probably not. She was probably too busy wondering where her next meal was coming from after turning over any earnings to her pimp at the end of the night. Now there was someone he'd like to spend five unmonitored minutes alone in a room with. Anyone who could put a child out on the street, selling her innocence for a turn in the sack and a chunk of change she'd never get to spend herself...

"Hey, baby," came a voice from the street out of his sight.

He tensed. He didn't like the sound of this. The voice he heard was drunk, maybe high, definitely unpredictable. He moved his left arm slowly, touching the butt of his piece, judging distance and angle in this position, returning his arm to its previous position. No one ever paid attention to passed-out junkies in the alleys. That gave him the advantage.

She looked at the man who was still out of his range of vision. He could tell she wasn't long on the streets; she was scared. She was shivering, though not entirely from the cold, like he was. But she was trying to be smooth. "Hey there," she purred, trying to sound confident.

Bobby watched the man's legs come into view as he approached the baby hooker. He couldn't help but think of her as a baby; his gut clenched with repulsion. He had no problem with men seeking hookers, aside from the legal issues involved, but when children hit the streets, and creeps like this went after them..._that_ he had a problem with.

The man reached out toward her but she stepped back smoothly with an innocent laugh. "No touching the merchandise," she cooed. He could hear the nervous tremor in her voice, though he doubted this creep would, and even if he did, he wouldn't care. "Not until it's paid for."

The man laughed, but it was nothing like the child-hooker's innocent giggle. It was a hard, cold sound. "All right, then, honey. How much?"

"A c-note for the first hour, double if you want anything extra."

"Are you that good?"

"It'll cost you to find out."

The man thrust his hand into his pocket. Bobby was torn. If he pulled this baby off the street, he'd blow his cover. But how could he just sit here and ignore it, when so many crimes on so many levels were being committed just fifteen feet in front of him? His mind raced, trying to figure out a way to do what he'd decided he had to without blowing his cover and losing his job, or his life.

The guy pulled out a roll of bills, peeling off two hundred dollar bills. He stuffed them down the child's shirt, into her bra, and he owned her now, for the next hour anyway. Sighing to himself, Bobby lurched to his feet as the guy in front of him put his arm around the child and turned to bring her back the way he'd come. In one smooth movement, he lurched forward, slamming his body clumsily into the guy, taking him down and slamming on top of him with the force of his body weight and as much momentum as he could gather on the way to the ground. It had been dumb luck on his part that the girl hadn't tumbled to the ground with them.

He rolled off the guy, glancing toward the child-hooker, who was pressed against the wall of the building, looking terrified. He felt badly about that but he had no way to reassure her.

Recovering his wind, the stranger rolled onto his knees and glared at the junkie who'd knocked him over. From out of nowhere, a knife appeared in his hand. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he growled angrily.

_Shit_. This was quickly going from bad to worse. He looked at the knife, tipping his head to the left as if he didn't recognize what it was or the danger it presented to him. "Nice blade," he slurred.

The guy stared at him, confused. "What?"

"You ever use that for fishing?"

Totally confused, he stared at the man on the ground in front of him, who was looking at him through half-closed eyes. This idiot was obviously stoned out of his mind, and he presented no threat, and certainly no competition for the sweet little hooker he'd just picked up.

He got to his feet, holding the knife toward the street bum with uncertainty. He wasn't sure what to make of this junkie. He'd come from out of nowhere. There were footsteps behind him, and he turned to see another hooker strolling toward them. He grinned. Maybe this was his night.

Bobby glanced at the second woman. Dressed much like the child-hooker, she was older, maybe twenty-five or thirty. He watched her for a minute as she drew closer, intrigued. There was something about her...but then he remembered the man in front of him with the knife...and now there was a second hooker to protect...what had he gotten himself into?

"Vickie?" The second hooker looked toward the still frightened child cowering against the building. "Are you ok?"

The girl nodded. Bobby took advantage of the distraction to shift his body, and, making it seem a part of his repositioning, he slammed his boot into the other guy's knee, bringing him down again. The guy landed with a grunt, but rolled toward him and lunged at him with the knife. He barely missed. Before the cop had a chance to react to the lunge, though, the knife went flying and the guy was knocked onto his back, a gun leveled in his face.

"You're under arrest, pal." The second hooker stood above him, her face cold and hard. She spoke into a hidden mike. "I've got a situation around the corner, guys. One john in custody. Come get 'im."

Well, damn! She was a vice cop. And he never made her. He watched her from under his grubby ballcap as more cops appeared from nowhere. This wasn't his night. His mark was never going to show up here. Not now. _Good choice of a spot, Goren._ He was done for the night, at least here in this area. He'd either have to pack it in for the night or stumble off someplace else and hope for another place like this one, out of the December wind.

Even though his conscious mind was elsewhere, he hadn't missed a thing that was transpiring in front of him. It was a skill he'd honed over the years...his mind was eternally busy, but he had a great autopilot that registered every movement around him. He knew when things were heading south, a bust gone bad. He'd saved a couple of partners that way...only to have them go packing soon after, inevitably blaming him for their near-death experiences. They were on their way out, anyway, he'd convinced himself. He wasn't an easy cop to work with; he wasn't much of a team player. He did things his way and walked much closer to the edge than most cops did. Bobby had no fear. Not fear for his life, anyway. Some thought he was suicidal, but that wasn't the case at all--his psych reports showed that clearly. He just...wasn't afraid to die. So he'd push harder, delve deeper than any of his partners were willing to. But he wasn't reckless. No. He was very careful...at least with his partners he was. He was least comfortable with those partners who had families. He refused to be responsible in any way for someone's dad not coming home. He had to be extra careful when he had a family man as a partner.

The other guy was being hauled to his feet by two beefy cops and shoved into the back of an unmarked car for the trip to booking. But he'd post bail and be back on the streets looking for another child to bang in no time. How much time would he get? Six months? A year? And for every one of him, there were ten more to take his place. Yeah, working vice was an endless frustration. At least the scrubs he busted went up for real time. Yeah, there were plenty of others to take their places...but...but what? Was he spinning his wheels, too? Probably. But he loved his job. Yeah...he really did.

Time to move on. The excitement was over, and he doubted any of them would be concerned with him. After all, he was just another junkie, down and out and looking for another fix. Everyone had dispersed, for the most part, and his child-hooker was sobbing in the arms of her guardian angel, who was talking softly to her as they moved away from the alley. He sighed. All too soon, the vice cop would be off to make another bust and...well, he had no idea what would happen to the child. He had to trust her angel to take care of her. He got to his feet, turned to stumble off in the other direction, and he almost tripped over someone. Keeping with his stoned junkie persona, he tumbled back to the ground with a groan. _Crap_...he hadn't noticed anyone in his path. He looked up, pretending to have trouble focusing...but he had no problems with his eyes, and he was looking up into the beautiful face of the vice cop who had rescued the child hooker...and enabled him to keep his cover intact. He struggled not to smile, not to make direct eye contact. She just stood over him, studying him, with the child standing behind her, watching him with large eyes. He shook himself from his reverie two seconds before she got suspicious and attempted to stand. Sloppily, he got to his feet after two unsuccessful tries. "Watch where you're going there, girl," he slurred.

"Hey, you fell over me."

Before he was even aware it had happened, he met her eyes. "Did I? Well, watch where I'm going, then."

She continued her scrutiny of him as he swayed in front of her. He knew that look on her face. It wasn't repulsion. It was curiosity. _Fuck_...she was on the verge of making him. He wanted to tell her to be careful, to watch out for the prostitute killer who was out there, but that was probably the case she was working. Even so, it wasn't his place to say anything to her. He had no more business penetrating her cover than she had looking past his. He tore his eyes from hers and made a move to stumble past her. She moved half a step away and waited until he was right next to her before she stepped into his side and spoke into his ear. "You're no junkie."

He stopped dead in his tracks. "What makes you say that?" he said, taking care to stumble over the words.

"Your eyes. They're too clear. Either you step fully into the role, officer, and take the drugs you're pretending to be under the influence of, or you don't stare into the eyes of the people you're trying to fool."

He looked at her. She was smart. Really smart. "I usually don't."

"Don't what?"

"Look into anyone's eyes."

"Well, good. That'll keep you from getting your ass shot...or worse." She kept her eyes on his face a few seconds longer. "Thanks, though, for what you did."

"I didn't do anything."

She moved even closer, and he could smell the perfume drifting from her. "You could have blown your cover protecting her," she whispered, her breath warm against his ear. Her fingers lightly touched his hand. "Thank you for taking that risk."

She stepped away and saw him look over her shoulder at the girl behind her. His face softened and his eyes were warm. Vickie was still terrified. She had not been doing this for long; she wasn't yet inoculated to life on the streets. His eyes returned to the vice cop, who said, "I'll take care of her. Don't worry."

He let his face ease into a smile which he quickly suppressed once she'd seen it. He let his eyes stray over her body before he met her eyes one last time. "Be careful out there, ok?"

He pulled his cap down over his eyes and resumed his role of a stumbling, strung-out junkie.

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She watched him as he staggered away. He really did play the role well, and if he had not stopped and looked into her eyes, she would never have made him. She had been watching out for Vickie, trying to insulate her from the streets until she had a chance to get her off them. But she'd lost track of her a little while ago, finding her in time to see the john stuff his money down the front of her halter top. Then she had seen the junkie stumble from the alleyway and into the john who'd been after the child.

She saw the guy pull his knife and she just knew this was not going to end well for the addict. She didn't hear what he'd said to the john, but he'd obviously confused him. Her approach had further defused the situation, until that junkie had knocked the guy down again. He'd damn near taken that knife in the ribs for his effort, but it had enabled her to disarm and arrest the other man with ease.

She was busy reassuring Vickie when he had fallen over her. The clumsy oaf. Looking up at her from the ground, he had that confused, unfocused countenance of a guy stoned off his ass. She watched, mildly amused and irritated at the same time, as he struggled to his feet. Then, he'd met her eyes. It was a mistake, not something he'd intended to do, but at that moment, she knew he was not what he seemed. This was no strung-out junkie. This guy was a cop. His eyes were clear as day...bloodshot, yeah, but definitely not from drugs. She'd seen stoned and strung-out eyes enough times to know this guy was clean. And he had _really_ nice eyes.

She was impressed by his concern for Vickie, and she realized that he had intentionally taken the risk of blowing his cover to try to save the child. For an undercover narcotics cop, that was a very big risk. Vickie touched her arm. "Where is he going?" she asked. "Aren't you going to arrest him, too?"

"Arrest him? Why would I do that?"

"So he can sleep in a warm bed and have a decent meal."

She smiled. This child had a good heart. "No, Vickie. I'm not going to arrest him." She looked at the girl. "That man just risked his life in a very big way to help you."

Vickie looked confused. "All he did was fall over that john."

They started walking in the opposite direction from where he had gone. "He's an undercover cop. The streets have eyes and ears, Vickie, and if he blew his cover saving you, he probably won't make it back to his squad alive tonight."

"Do you think he's going to be ok?"

"I don't know." She hoped that his cover was still intact and he would be ok. "But, Vickie, do you really want to be out on the streets now? It's dangerous out here, in this world, and that man risked his life for a reason: to save yours. There's nothing glamorous about being a prostitute."

"So why do you do it?"

"I'm not a prostitute. I'm a cop. I'm doing my job here, and I know what I'm doing. You're fifteen years old. You don't need to be out here. The streets will kill you. Come back with me to my squad room and we'll talk about it."

"Can you find out who he was?"

She shook her head. "No. But I'll keep my eyes out for him, and if I ever see him again, I can let you know."

She looked back down the street, where he had turned the corner out of her sight and out of her life. When he had looked her over that last time, she'd felt none of the discomfort she usually felt when other guys looked her over. There had been no lust in his eyes...just...curiosity? And then he'd told her to be careful. She got the impression it was a genuine expression of concern, as though he really did care...but how could he? He didn't even know her.

She sighed as she led Vickie around the corner toward the car where her partner was waiting for her, thinking about the big narcotics cop. He'd continue his role until he caught whoever it was he was after, unless the streets caught up with him first. Then he'd go home to wash away the dirt and grime of this filthy underworld and immerse himself in the role of his real life, making love to a pretty wife and playing with his kids around the Christmas tree. And her? She'd go home to her cold, empty bed and tomorrow visit the grave of the man who had once warmed it with her. Life was cruel. But there was one thing about tonight she would never forget...she would never forget his eyes.


	2. It Was His Eyes

Alex Eames studied her partner. They'd been partners for over a year now, and they had settled into a comfortable routine with each other. They had just closed their most recent case, but he was still studying a file with that odd intensity of his. Dotting the 'i's and crossing the 't's. That's what Bobby Goren did after every case, making sure they had not missed anything. He was certainly unorthodox, but there was something intriguing about him as well. And something familiar. Ever since Deakins had introduced them, she had a sense that there was something about him she should know, almost a memory, but she'd never met him before. No, she would remember if she had. He was not a person easily forgotten. She had been apprehensive at first, unsure about him and his odd behavior, but somewhere along the way, she had come to truly like him. Somehow, they had become friends.

Sensing he was being watched, he looked up at her. "Something wrong?"

"No. I was just thinking. Sorry. I didn't mean to stare."

"It's ok, Eames. I'm used to being stared at."

He turned his attention back to his file. She thought about his comment. No one understood him, but she was beginning to. His leaps of logic were less confounding to her lately, and she was beginning to trust his judgment. She trusted him with her life; the leap to trusting his judgment wasn't so far. Early on, she hadn't been sure about him at all. She'd heard the rumors about him before Deakins made her his partner. Now she knew they weren't true, and the ones that touched the truth were greatly exaggerated. She wasn't sure exactly when they had moved from partners to friends, but she was glad they had. She felt a genuine, deep affection for her gentle partner.

"Goren?" He looked up. "Are you busy tonight?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Uh, not particularly. Why?"

"Well, we've finished this case, except for the paperwork, and it's Friday, and I, um, I was just wondering if maybe you wanted to grab a bite to eat, or a beer, or something before we go home."

He looked amused and then he smiled. "Sure, Eames," he replied good-naturedly. "I-I'd like that."

She smiled back at him before returning to her paperwork. They had spent lots of off-duty time together working cases at her apartment or his over take-out. But dinner and drinks? This would be interesting. The one thing she could say for certain about him; he was nothing like what she had expected. She was very pleased that her father had been right: you can't believe everything you hear. His advice had been to give Goren a chance. Now she was glad she did.

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She looked across the booth at him as she finished her burger. They were relaxed and enjoying each other's company; she knew Bobby was charming, but he was fun, too. She reached across the table and snatched a french fry from his plate. "Hey," he protested with a laugh.

She smiled at him. "Bobby, do you remember...when we first became partners, I told you that you were different?"

He looked thoughtful, searching his memory for the details of the conversation. "I asked you if that was a good thing."

"And I told you to ask me again in six months."

"Ok, Eames, I'll bite. Is it a good thing?"

She reached toward him and laid her hand on his. "Yes, it is. It's a very good thing."

He looked at her hand, then back at her face. "I'm glad to hear that."

"Now tell me what you think of me."

"What I think of you?"

"It's only fair. You know what I think of you."

"N-no, I don't. You think it's...good that I'm weird. That's all I know."

She laughed and squeezed his hand. "Not weird. Different. Ok, to be fair...I think you are brilliant, and intense, and yes, sometimes, weird. But that's good."

"It is?"

"Yes, it is," she assured him. He smiled, eyes slightly closed. She looked down as he gently rubbed his thumb along the back of her hand. "Ok, now it's your turn," she challenged.

He sighed, looking down at where her hand rested in his, and he continued to gently move his thumb back and forth. What to say? Say too much and she's liable to head for the hills. Don't say enough and she'll think you don't trust her. Half the words that came to mind, he couldn't tell her, not without the risk of driving her off. You just don't friggin' tell your partner she's sexy. So he opted for safe words. "You're tough and independent, a good cop, with good instincts. I...I trust you."

"Trust me how? To back you up?" He had to know by now that was something she would always do.

Trust...she had no idea, but that was the highest compliment he could have paid her. "That...and I trust you with...me. I don't trust people, Eames, but I've come to trust you."

"And trust is a big deal for you." He nodded, withdrawing his hand and leaning back in the booth. He picked up his glass and finished off his drink. He was tense now, and she didn't understand why. "Have I upset you?"

"No. I'm ok." He signaled for another drink, then looked at her. "You didn't upset me. Maybe someday I'll be able to explain it to you. My trust is not easily earned, and you are one of only a handful of people who have it."

"Me, and who else? Your parents..." She stopped when a dark shadow settled in his eyes. She knew his mother had schizophrenia, but she knew few details. She grew up taking for advantage a world where parents were good people their children could love and trust. The look in his eyes told her his childhood had been less than idyllic, and she sensed she was stepping into forbidden territory.

"No, not my parents." He was done. Either they changed the subject, or he was going to leave.

She saw the restlessness stir in him, and she knew what it meant. He was shutting down, something she had gotten used to. Whenever she tried to get something personal from him, he might give her a glimpse, but then he shut down and he wouldn't give her any more. And that's what was happening now. It was so incredibly difficult to get close to him, but she was determined to do it. The harder he made it, the more she tried. She was well aware that she had to go very slowly, chipping away at his armor a tiny bit at a time. Eventually, it would crumble, and she was very patient with him. She sensed he hid a very painful past, and she knew it was just a matter of time, probably a lot of time, before he would share it with her. She said, "I'm sorry. I did not mean to touch on a sensitive subject. Not tonight."

He tilted his head and looked at her. She respected his feelings, and she wasn't ready to pack it in...yet. He glanced at the waitress with a nod when she brought two more drinks. He took a swallow and, with a slight smile, answered, "Saving it for another time?" She was relieved to see him relax. The darkness left his eyes as he forced away the unrest caused by the previous discussion. "So...you like kids, don't you?"

She laughed. "I do. I love kids..."

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She could get him to laugh, something he didn't usually do, not like this. It wasn't the laugh he often forced in the interrogation room, the one that made nervous suspects even more nervous. It was a warm, genuine laugh, and she liked the sound of it. She knew he was well on his way to inebriation, and he was more relaxed than she had ever seen him. She sincerely hoped he would one day--one day soon--be comfortable enough with her to be like this without needing a gutful of booze to get there. He was beginning to get that dull, unfocused look...she studied him closely. There was something very familiar about that look on his face...and her mind suddenly returned to a cold, December night, now long past. A tall junkie in a dark alley, a teen hooker whose life was saved that night, a pair of beautiful eyes she swore she'd never forget... She remembered the unfocused look of the stoned junkie he had pretended to be, until he made the mistake of looking directly into her eyes, and she had seen the truth...

"Oh, my God..." she whispered. It was his eyes...that was what had been nagging her all this time, what was so very familiar about him...it was his eyes.

He looked confused, trying to think of what he could possibly have done to trouble her. "What? What's wrong?"

"That was you."

"What was me?"

"A couple of years ago, when I was working vice, we were after a prostitute killer. I was keeping an eye on a new girl, a kid who never belonged on the streets to begin with, trying to keep her out of trouble until I could convince her to go home. She was convinced to leave that night, but not by me. It was a junkie who saved her from her first john...another cop. A cop who really did risk his life to protect her." He remembered; she could see it in his eyes. "That junkie, who wasn't a junkie at all...that was you."

He tilted his head and smiled at her. "You made me...that almost never happened. You've always been smart."

"I made you only because you _weren't_ stoned."

He laughed. "I never made it a habit of muddling my mind when I was after a mark."

"Is your mind _ever_ muddled?"

"Occasionally." _Like now_, he added to himself. Another thought forced its way through to the surface of his mind. "What happened to her, Eames? That girl?"

"I told her what you did for her. She decided on her own that if you could risk your cover and your life for her, the least she could do was get off the streets. She wanted to know who you were, but I had no way to find you. We found an aunt and uncle who took her in, because the abuse at home was so bad, and they have been kind and loving to her. This one had a happy ending, and she's doing great."

"You talk to her?"

"Two or three times a year, maybe."

He nodded. "Tell her I said hello. I'm glad she got off the streets...before something bad happened to her."

"That was a good thing you did, you know."

He shook his head, looking down into his glass. "I was doing my job. You know: to serve and protect."

"If you'd blown your cover..."

He knew what that could have meant better than she did; he'd seen it happen. "But I didn't. I'm glad she's doing well."

"Sometimes what we do does make a difference."

"That's why we keep doing it, Eames."

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He propped up his head on his hand, resting his elbow on the table, and he watched her. He knew he'd had way too much to drink, and he was having some trouble pulling her into focus. He had been very careful over the last fifteen months not to let his thoughts dwell on his partner too much, but now, watching her across the booth from him, that was exactly where his thoughts were: on her. And it hit him like a ton of bricks...somewhere along the way, somehow, he had fallen in love with her. He couldn't say when it had happened, or how...but it had, dammit. How the hell could he have let this happen? And what the hell was he going to do about it? Suppress it and ignore it, that's what. He finally had a partner he liked, who seemed to like him in return. At the very least, she was willing to remain his partner, and she really did work well with him. He was free to let his mind make its connections, and she was able to follow him, most of the time. And when she couldn't, it was only a matter of time before it clicked for her. In the meantime, she gave him the space and the time he needed to get where he was going. And he could always depend on her to bring others up to speed, so he didn't have to stop and back up, which he hated to do. So he _had_ to ignore these feelings...God, he hated his life sometimes. He'd had enough. It was time to go home. "Can I walk you home, Eames?"

She wasn't nearly as drunk as he was. Too drunk to drive, yes. Too drunk to find her way home, no. "How about I walk you home? Then I'll know you made it to the right place."

He laughed. "How drunk do you think I am?"

"Maybe too drunk to get home safely."

"I doubt that. I'll take a cab from your place if that'll make you feel better."

"How about crashing on my couch instead?"

He raised his eyebrows at that. "You trust me to spend the night?"

"You're my partner...and my friend. Besides, if you can trust me, why shouldn't I trust you?"

She was right. Regardless of how he truly felt, she was off limits to him. He would never risk their partnership; it had taken him far too long to find her. "All right. If that's what you want."

She was used to his concession. Over the last few months, she'd noticed that he would defer to her wishes almost every time. The only exception was when he felt strongly about a case. Then she was the one who usually gave in. If nothing else, he knew how to choose his battles.

She slid out of the booth and then watched him get out of the booth and try to stand. He was more than a little wobbly. "I can't carry you, Goren," she warned.

He laughed. "No need...just steer."

He pulled out his wallet to pay for their drinks and it slid through his fingers onto the floor. "Don't..." she started. Too late. When he bent over to pick it up, he started to topple. She grabbed him, shoving him into the table to keep from ending up on the ground beneath him. She was certain having over 200 pounds of drunk cop on top of her would not be very pleasant. Now if he were sober, and they were in a different environment...she frowned. Where the hell had _that_ thought come from? He caught enough of the table to keep himself from hitting the floor. "I'll get your wallet, Goren. You hold the table up, ok?"

"Right." She picked it up and placed it in his hands. "Thanks," he muttered. He opened it, pulling out the cash he had in it and trying to focus on the denominations. "Uh, Eames..."

"Yeah, I've got it."

She took the bills from his hand, counted out enough to cover their tab and handed the remaining bills back to him. "You leave a tip?"

She slid another bill from his hand and watched him try to get the bills back into his wallet. "Good grief," she grumbled, taking the wallet and bills from his hands. She placed the bills back in their place, closed the wallet and slid it back into his pocket.

He knew he was trashed, but when she slid the wallet into his pocket he caught his breath. Damn. He made a mental note not to get drunk with her again, but that note would flitter away into oblivion when sobriety returned. She took his arm and said, "Let's go. Think you can make it without kissing the pavement?"

He could think of something else he would much rather kiss, but that would probably end up being more painful than the pavement when she decked him. "I'll give it a try," he answered with a lopsided grin.

"Great," she muttered. "Let's go."

It wasn't as bad as she thought it would be. The cool night air sobered him enough to keep him on his feet. He couldn't walk a straight line, but at least he could walk in one direction accurately, more or less. He was in a good mood, and she was glad for that. She'd seen too many angry and depressed drunks. It felt good to drink and laugh for a change. She knew there were times when he could be moody, but since he'd started off feeling good, that mood had carried through the night, for the most part.

He started having more trouble as they got to her apartment. She worried about the stairs; the damn elevator was out and she lived on the second floor. Twice on the way up, she'd had to shove, hard, to keep him from toppling over backwards. She breathed a sigh of relief when she propelled him away from the stairs. Propping him against the wall, she pulled out her keys and opened the door. "Are you going to get sick?" she asked him.

He looked confused. "No."

"Well, if your stomach changes its mind, you know where the bathroom is. I'll get you a pillow and a blanket."

"Eames?" She looked at him. "Thanks."

She smiled. "Any time, partner."

He collapsed onto the couch, watching with interest as the room spun around him. He was barely aware of anything when she returned and set the pillow against the armrest. She pressed him down onto the pillow. By the time she covered him with the blanket, he was out. She smiled at him. He spent his days watching out for her; she knew he did. If a suspect got too close, he intervened. If one flirted with her, which happened often, he bristled and stood ready to step in if the man got out of hand. He did everything he could to protect her without making it obvious he was doing it. She was happy she could finally repay him by taking care of him for a change. On impulse, she kissed his forehead. "Good night, Bobby," she whispered. She headed down the hall to her bedroom.


	3. A Christmas Surprise

Eames stomped the snow from her boots and shook it from the shoulders of her coat as she got on the elevator and pushed eleven. She took a deep breath and waited until the doors opened. Walking past the Christmas tree in the corner of the hallway, she entered the clean open space that was the Major Case bullpen. It was Christmas Eve and there weren't many people milling around the room. Only one or two active cases were being investigated by other detectives. She wasn't surprised to see that her partner was already at his desk. She hung up her coat and walked to her desk. He looked up and smiled at her. "How was the drive?"

"Not bad, but it's still snowing. It'll be nice to have a white Christmas."

"If you say so." Christmas never meant much to him, but Eames loved the holiday.

"Are you busy tonight, Bobby?"

"No. Why?"

"I'd like to take you someplace."

He folded his hand together and rested his chin on them, interested. "Where?"

"It's a surprise."

He looked suspicious now. "What kind of surprise?"

She smiled. "The kind of surprise where I don't tell you anything about it until we get there."

"I don't know, Eames..."

"Trust me."

He studied her for a long moment. "All right. But you could have waited until the _end_ of the day to ask."

"Now you're going to wonder all day, right?"

"Right."

She laughed. "A little wondering about something you can't figure out isn't going to hurt you."

He grinned. "But what's it going to do to you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm going to try to get it out of you all day now."

"Good luck, Goren," she challenged with a smile and a twinkle in her eye.

He was as good as his word. They didn't have a case, so they hung around the squad, working on the endless flow of paperwork that always filled their inboxes. He spent the day sneaking up behind her and leaning over her shoulder close enough for her to feel his breath on her neck and smell his cologne. Not for the first time, she thought how good he smelled and how much she liked having him close, then she chased those thoughts from her mind. "Come on, Eames. Tell me," he'd whisper in her ear and she'd chase him away.

He tormented her all day, and she enjoyed every minute of it. She had a sneaking suspicion he did, too. Somehow, she managed to hold out until the end of the day, but he hadn't made it easy. He was like a little kid in so many ways, and that just endeared him to her more. At ten after five, she finally said, "Get your coat, Goren."

She didn't have to tell him twice. It had continued snowing all day and she put the car into four wheel drive just to be on the safe side. She headed the car out of Manhattan.

He sat quietly in the passenger seat, watching the snow-covered scenery slide by. He'd been trying to figure out where she could be taking him, but she gave him no clue and he was even more confused now. "I give up, Eames. Where are we going?"

She made one concession and told him their destination. "To New Rochelle."

"Why?"

"That you have to wait and see."

He huffed impatiently and she laughed. He turned toward her. "You're enjoying this."

"Yes, I am."

He looked away to hide his smile. It had been a very good day, and he'd enjoyed himself. It didn't bother him that he hadn't been able to crack her resolve. He hadn't tried terribly hard. He'd just been annoying, and he was pleased that he'd made her laugh over the course of the day. They had both ignored the odd looks Deakins had been giving them all day long. They worked hard and it was rare to have a free day to unwind and relax. The captain knew that and he left them alone. It was just a matter of time before another case came in.

Eames turned into a nice neighborhood on the outskirts of New Rochelle. A few minutes later, she turned into a driveway. He looked at her. "We're here," she announced.

"We're where?" he asked.

"Just come on."

She got out of the car and he followed her up the walkway to the front door. She rang the bell and waited until an older woman came to the door. She smiled at the two detectives on the doorstep. "Hello, Alex, dear. Please, come in."

Eames hugged the older woman. "Hello, Mrs. Carson. This is my partner, Bobby Goren. Bobby, this is Helen Carson."

Helen looked up at the tall detective. "I am so happy to finally meet you," she said. "Come in please. Dinner is almost ready."

Goren eyed his partner warily. They were led into the living room, where an older man, obviously her husband, rose to greet them. "Hello, Alex," he smiled and hugged her, kissing her cheek.

She motioned Goren forward and introduced him to Helen's husband, Fred. Goren shook his hand. "It's a pleasure, sir."

Helen poked her head in the room. "Fred, could you please set the table?"

"Please excuse me. Make yourselves at home."

Goren turned to his partner. "Ok, Eames. I'm way at a disadvantage here. They seem to know who I am, but I'm clueless. What's going on?"

"Be patient. I promise I'll explain in a minute."

"Eames..."

She rested a hand on his chest and shushed him. He snorted in annoyance, but fell silent. After a few minutes, a young woman came into the room, smiling at the two detectives. "Hi, Alex."

Eames embraced the young woman. "Hi, Vickie. How are you doing?"

"I'm great."

She looked at Goren, and she remembered him. He tipped his head, studying her. She looked familiar, but he couldn't place her. Eames touched his arm. "This is Bobby Goren, Vickie. I promised you I would let you know if I ever found him. Do you remember Vickie, Bobby?"

"I'm not sure."

"It was on the streets, in December, five years ago. She was a runaway, trying to make her way on the streets, until an undercover narcotics officer risked his life to save her from her first john." Eames knew the moment he remembered her. He looked at her, then at Vickie.

Vickie smiled at him. "You were that officer. You saved me from more than that man that night. I came here to live with Aunt Helen and Uncle Fred, I graduated from high school and now I'm a psychology major at NYU."

He returned her smile. When she held out her hand to him, he gently drew her into his arms and hugged her. "I was glad to hear you left the streets," he said. "You should never have been out there."

She nodded. "I know that now. I felt trapped, lost, and helpless back then. I can never thank you and Alex enough for what you did."

She stepped back from his arms and he quietly said, "There's no need."

Just knowing she had stepped away from that life and into this one was more than thanks enough for him. Children should be safe and loved. He tried to push away the memories of his own unhappy childhood, where security did not exist and love was rarely expressed. Helen's pleasant voice pulled him from his dark thoughts. "Dinner's ready."

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They sat around the dining table and waited while Fred said grace. Then the food was passed around. Vickie kept looking from her plate to Goren, then to Eames and back. Finally, she summoned her nerve and looked at Goren. "Officer Goren?"

He looked at her. "Uh, you can call me Bobby."

She seemed to relax and Eames smiled. He had a way of setting people at their ease when he wanted to. "There are some things I really need to know. Things that have bothered me all this time."

Helen spoke up before he could answer. "Vickie, darling, let the man eat. This can wait until after dinner."

The girl frowned, and Eames wondered what her partner was going to do to smooth this over. She knew he wouldn't leave it like this. "Uh, do you like the snow, Vickie?"

She looked confused. "Yeah, I guess so," she replied, tentatively.

"Do you mind walking in the snow?"

She hesitated, trying to figure out where this conversation had come from. "Actually, I love walking in the snow."

"When we're done eating, if you'd like to take a walk with me, I'll answer all your questions."

The confused frown vanished from Vickie's face, replaced by a warm smile. "I would like that. Thank you."

He nodded, glancing at Helen, who also gave him a warm smile of gratitude. She loved her niece dearly and hated hearing about those times because she couldn't chase away thoughts of what could have happened to this sweet, gentle girl.

After dinner, Goren helped Vickie on with her coat and looked at Eames. "Come with us."

She started to shake her head, but Vickie grabbed her hand. "Yes, Alex. Please."

Goren lifted her coat from its hook near the door and held it for her. She smiled at him and slipped into it. He grabbed his coat and followed the two women out the door.

They headed down the block, letting Vickie lead since she knew the area. The two detectives remained silent, waiting for the young woman to speak. Finally she did, looking up at him. "I really want to know why. I mean, Alex told me what you risked by stepping out of that alley and taking down that man. And I saw him almost stab you. I...I relive that night often. Mostly it's ok, but sometimes I have nightmares, and those nightmares involve you dying to save me. I never knew if anything happened to you because of what you did for me, and Alex didn't either, until recently. It would have been so much easier, and safer, for you to have stayed where you were. Surely you are used to hookers being on the streets if you were undercover in the same world. I can't believe you did that for every hooker you saw."

He shook his head. "Unfortunately, that wasn't my job. I learned a long time ago that I can't save the world."

"So why me?"

He sighed. "Because you were a baby, Vickie. You didn't belong there. I could tell you'd never done it before, and you were scared. That guy was drunk and probably high, and there was a killer out there targeting prostitutes. I could have stayed where I was. Alex would have been along shortly. But I didn't know that. All I saw was a frightened little girl, and I had to do something. I couldn't leave you there at his mercy." He shrugged. "I have enough trouble sleeping at night."

"How did you know I was scared?"

"I could tell just by looking at you. You were trembling, and it wasn't entirely from the cold. I know people."

"He's right," Eames added. "Bobby can read people like no one I've ever known."

He smiled at his partner's compliment, then looked back at Vickie. "You didn't belong on the streets, Vickie. I am so glad everything turned out well for you."

"Both of you saved my life," she said quietly. "And so did my aunt and uncle."

"What sent you to the street?" he asked.

She was quiet for a while, thinking about the best way to phrase her answer. "I...I couldn't take it at home any more. My parents were alcoholics. They beat on each other, then they beat on me. I was tired of being hurt."

He understood that better than either of them would ever know. His childhood had been much the same. Softly, he said, "I understand that. I never ran away, but I had a hard childhood, too." He glanced at Eames. Her eyes told him to go on, but he wasn't sure he should. "My father was an alcoholic and my mother was sick. I know how bad it can get."

"Do you really?"

He met her eyes. "Yeah, I do."

She believed him, and her eyes filled with tears. He stopped, pulling her into his arms as she burst into tears. He looked at Eames, not sure what to do. She reached out and ran her hand down his arm. He was doing the only thing he could by holding her and letting her cry.

---------------------------------------------------------------

The black SUV made its way through the frozen slush on the highway as they headed back to Manhattan. Goren hadn't said a word since they'd gotten in the car. Finally, Eames sighed and broke the silence. "Talk to me, Bobby."

Torn from his thoughts by her voice, he looked at her. "What?"

"Talk to me. What are you thinking?"

There was no way in hell he was going to share his thoughts with her, not the thoughts she'd drawn him from. Remembering Christmas Past for him was not a nostalgic stroll down memory lane. It was a voyage into the stuff of nightmares. He turned his mind away from his thoughts and studied his partner instead. "Thank you, Eames."

"For what?"

"For surprising me," he smiled. "It was a great surprise. I'm glad things turned out so well for her."

"So am I." She was quiet for a minute. "What are your plans for tomorrow?"

"I'm just going to visit my mom."

"How about spending the night at my place? The roads are pretty messy."

"I don't want to impose. I can get a cab, or take the subway..."

"Are you saying you don't want to spend the night?"

No, he wasn't saying that at all. He loved spending time with her, probably too much. "No. I just don't want to put you out."

"How are you going to put me out by spending the night on my couch?"

He looked at her. "Aren't you spending the day with your family tomorrow?"

"Later in the day."

Finally, he relented. It was what she wanted..."Ok, Eames."

It took much longer to get home than normal because of the weather. She was glad he'd agreed to stay. When she finally parked the car, she let out a sigh of relief. "That wasn't fun," she commented.

"I would have driven."

"No thanks," she answered with a smile. He smiled back. They headed up to her apartment, hung up their coats and she started for the kitchen. "What do you want to drink?"

"Surprise me," he said with a grin.

She looked at him. "You still trust me to surprise you?"

"Yes, Eames. I trust you."

She held his eyes for a moment, then disappeared into the kitchen. He sat down on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees. When she sat beside him and handed him a glass, he turned his head to look at her. Softly, she asked, "How do you spend your Christmases?"

"Alone," he answered with a shrug.

"You shouldn't have to."

He laughed softly, but it wasn't a happy laugh. "Who would I spend it with? I visit my mom for a few hours, if she's having a good day. My father's dead, and I wouldn't spend any part of the day with him anyway. I can't remember the last time I saw my brother. So I come back from Carmel Ridge and I have a few drinks and I go to bed."

He looked at her as if he expected her to look for a way out, an escape route. What he got shocked the hell out of him. She gave him a sad smile and gently kissed him. It was a friendly, affectionate kiss. "Well, now you have me," she said softly. "I'll go to see my family while you go to visit your mom. Call me when you're on your way back and meet me here. We'll watch a movie and have a few drinks together."

He studied her. "Why would you do that, Eames?"

"Because you are my best friend, Bobby, and I want to."

"Best friend?"

"Yes. We're together most of the time, and I've found I like it. I've always loved my job, but I love it more now because you are part of it. We have a hard job, but we're good at it. You always keep me guessing, always make me think. It's challenging and stimulating, and I _like_ being with you, Bobby. Don't look so surprised. Don't you think of us as friends?"

"Of course, but..."

"You didn't think I did?"

"I haven't really thought about it."

"Why?"

"I haven't had to, I guess. Maybe I just took it for granted."

She smiled. "Well, if you have to take anything for granted, I guess my affection for you is a good thing to take for granted."

Affection? He felt out of his depth here. It really was time to change the subject. He took a drink, then looked at the glass with a frown. "What's this?"

"You tell me."

More games. She'd been in a playful mood all day long, and he loved that...but he was getting uncomfortable now and it had nothing really to do with her. "Chocolate milk? With mint...?"

She laughed. "Peppermint schnapps, actually. It's my holiday drink."

He couldn't help but laugh with her. And the laughter helped relieve some of his tension. "Well," she said. "I'm going to bed. You can watch TV or whatever. I'll see you in the morning."

He nodded. "Thank you, again. Good night, Eames."

She kissed his cheek and headed down the hall to her room. He sighed. It took him a long time to settle down so he could sleep.

----------------------------------------------------------------

When she came out in the morning, he was gone. There was a note on the table. _Alex, I had to go. I'll call you later._

Had to go? She frowned and pulled out her phone. She walked into the living room and stopped dialing. There was a small box under her tree, wrapped in red foil. She picked it up and pulled the card off. Opening it, she read: _I've never been much for the holidays, but I know how much you love Christmas. I just wanted to say thanks, for everything. Merry Christmas. love, Bobby_

She smiled and opened the box. It was a crystal angel, trimmed in gold. She set the angel on a shelf near the television and finished dialing.

"Goren."

"Hi."

"Sorry I had to leave. Did you get my note?"

"Yes. And your gift."

"Oh."

"Thank you, Bobby."

"You're welcome."

"Why did you leave?"

"I, uh, I just needed some time...by myself."

She understood that because she understood him. "Are we still on for tonight?"

"Sure. I'll call you on my way back from Carmel Ridge."

"Tell your mom Merry Christmas for me."

"I will." She could hear the smile in his voice. "See you later."

"Bye."

She closed the phone and went into the kitchen to fix some breakfast before heading to her parents' house. She was surprised to find fresh coffee in the coffee pot. And she smiled again.

* * *

**A/N: Shall I end it here, or do any of you want another chapter or two? Let me know what you think, or if you have any suggestions...**


	4. Holiday With Family

**A/N: No, I am not going to leave it here. I'm not that mean. This was going to be the last chapter but it was turning out to be incredibly long, and I have some more thinking to do about exactly what I want to do in the last chapter. So...rather than make everyone wait, I divided it in half. Here ya go...**

* * *

He sat in the car, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. God, he hoped she was having a good day. She hadn't been lately. Her last good day was just after Thanksgiving...almost a month...he was tired. Wearily, he got out of the car, feeling the drain on his almost boundless energy. Taking a deep breath of the cold, snowy air, he headed into the building. 

Some days this corridor was so much longer than others. Today, it seemed endless, like the bottomless chasm he spent his childhood skirting. What bothered him most was that she seemed so lucid on the phone. He talked to her every day, and most days he almost enjoyed the talks. They didn't last long, usually. But she seemed all right, and he could almost believe she was normal...almost. But she wasn't normal, and the reality of that never really left him.

The unit secretary smiled at him from her desk. "Hi, Bobby. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Sylvia. Uh, h-how is she today?"

Her eyes gave him his answer. _Damn_. He just nodded and headed past the desk. "Bobby?" He looked at her. She really liked this gentle man who was so devoted to his mother, even when she was cruel to him. "It'll get better."

"I appreciate that. Thanks." But he didn't believe her; he knew better.

He passed through a set of double doors and proceeded down the corridor. Stopping outside her door, he braced himself for what he knew awaited him, and passed through the doorway into the room.

The door closed quietly behind him. The lights were dim...not a good sign. 'They' were less likely to find her when the lights were low. Half his childhood had been spent in semi-darkness, as his mother tried to keep 'them' from finding him. She was lying on her bed, quiet for the moment, and he hesitated disturbing her.

But she heard him. "Who's there?"

"It's just me, Mom."

Her face turned toward him, but it did not soften into a smile, and he cringed. "You look like my boy, but how do I know you are Bobby?"

"It's me, I promise. I came to say Merry Christmas."

"Christmas? It's not Christmas. If it were Christmas there would be lights and a tree."

"There was, but you tried to choke an orderly with the lights and break the window with your tree. So the nurses had to take them away. Didn't Father Patrick come by to see you this morning?"

"Of course he did. It's Sunday."

"No, Mom. It's Wednesday. He came by because it's Christmas Day."

By gentle reminders, he tried to bring her back to reality. It used to work more often than it had lately, and he took that as a sign her condition was worsening. He sighed. "It's not important. I'm here to see you. Is it ok if I come over and sit by you?"

Last week he hadn't asked and she'd freaked out, thinking he was one of Satan's demons. Despite the restraints, she'd tried to attack him. He saw with regret that she was still in restraints. She glared at him. "Why would you _ask_ to come near me?"

"Because last week you got upset that I didn't."

"My son wouldn't need to ask. Get out."

"Mom..."

"Do not call me that!" she screamed. "Only my son can call me that, only my Bobby!"

"I _am_ Bobby," he protested weakly, knowing it would make no difference. Today, he was one of 'them,' as he had been for the past month. To the best of his knowledge, the only person in his mother's world who had never been one of 'them' was Father Patrick. A lapsed altar boy like himself would never live up to her expectations. He remembered when she'd told him that. A failure...worthless in God's eyes and hers. He choked back the tears that threatened. "Mom..."

"Beelzebub! Do not call me that! You're trying to trick me! You want to steal my soul!" And she screamed. _Fuck_. That was it. The visit was over. "Merry Christmas," he muttered, knowing she couldn't hear him. He slipped out the door as she struggled against the restraints.

He was relieved to see a nurse heading his way. "What's wrong?" she asked.

He gave her a sad smile. "I'm Beelzebub today."

"Who?"

"Uh, one of Satan's chief demons. I'm impersonating her son."

"I'll get her sedative. Do you think you can calm her down?"

"My presence just seems to agitate her today. I think I'd better go."

"I'm sorry, Bobby."

"Don't be. It's not your fault. Uh, Merry Christmas."

He headed down the corridor away from her. She hurried toward the nurses' station, away from the screams. As she drew up the proper medication, she couldn't keep her mind off the distressed young man who only wanted to spend a quiet Christmas visiting his mother. She saw the deep sadness in his eyes and knew only too well that the well from which that sadness sprung ran very deep. She headed back down the hall to Frances Goren's room.

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The tree in the corner was bright with colored lights and golden ornaments. She could see the ornament with her picture on it that she had given her parents when she was in the fourth grade. Why did they keep that old junk? Because it meant something to them. She hoped that someday she would have children of her own and that she would love them as much as her parents loved her. Parents...and love...her thoughts turned to her partner and how both those things seemed to have been missing in his past. She wondered how much that had to do with his remoteness. She knew that it was why he refused to let people in...why he refused to let her get close. All she could do was keep reassuring him, keep trying to get close, gently tapping away at the wall he hid behind with her toothpick and little wooden mallet. She refused to give up on him, like everyone else had. To her, Bobby was worth getting close to.

John Eames lowered himself onto the couch beside her. He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into a hug. She rested her head against his chest and wrapped her arms around him. "Why so sad, pumpkin?"

"It's nothing, Dad."

"It looked like a lot of something to me."

"I was just thinking about Bobby."

"That doesn't usually make you sad," he observed.

She sighed. "Dad, you and Mom always made our lives happy. We're a close family and we still get together and enjoy each other. I look back on my childhood fondly. It was a happy time in my life. He didn't have that. Do you know how he spends Christmas? He spends it alone. That's what makes me sad."

John sighed. "Is it his choice to be alone?"

"What? Why would anyone choose to be alone?"

"Some people do, Alex."

She thought about that, seeing in her mind the look on his face when they'd talked about it. She shook her head. "No. I don't think it's his choice. I think it's because he doesn't have anyone to spend it with."

"No girlfriend?"

"Not that he's ever mentioned. He visits his mother, but that seems to be a crapshoot whether it's a good visit or a bad one."

"Why's that?"

"She's sick, out at Carmel Ridge."

John nodded understanding. Then he sighed. "So what can you do about it, Alex?"

"I told him we would spend the evening together. I don't want him to be alone, Dad."

"I don't think he is anymore. He has you, doesn't he?"

She smiled. "He does, but he's not going to impose on our friendship. He's not one to push that way."

"Then you'll have to pull. Let him know where the boundaries are and maybe he'll be less uncertain. Don't leave him guessing. Let him know he's important to you." He studied her. "Just remember _your_ boundaries, Alex. Don't jeopardize your partnership for a roll in the hay."

"Dad!"

He laughed. "I know, I know...You seem to have settled in with him and accepted him. I'm proud of you, Alex, for giving him a chance. Are you glad you did?"

"Absolutely. I can honestly say I have never had a partner like him."

"Come on. Let's eat so you can get on with your evening."

She gave him another squeeze. "Thanks, Dad."

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He was probably driving a little too fast for the weather, but at first he didn't care. The trauma of this visit stung harshly. He was maybe nine years old the first time she'd called him a demon. He hadn't understood...just like he hadn't understood, when he was seven, why she locked him in a closet when 'they' were coming to get him. All he remembered was being terrified. It was years before he realized 'they' did not exist, before he came to understand his father was a bigger threat to his health and well-being than 'they' would ever be, except in his mother's mind. The biggest threat 'they' ever presented was in the beatings she gave him when he became 'them' in her warped perceptions.

He was halfway back to town when he remembered he promised to call Alex after his visit. Alex. He took a deep breath, and he could feel himself calming. She had become his anchor in an uncertain world. She gave him hope that his life actually meant something to someone, that he really was worth caring about. After all, if someone like her--respected and well-liked--could step into a friendship with him, one that existed outside the job, maybe there was a chance that his life would turn out ok beyond the job he loved so much.

He pulled the car over to the side of the road and took out his phone, pressing '2' and waiting for her to answer.

"Hi, Bobby."

"Hey. How's your visit going?"

"It's fine. How's your mom?"

"Uh, don't ask. I...I just wanted to let you know I was on my way back, because you asked me to." He paused. "Stay with your family, Eames. I...I'm afraid I just won't be good company tonight. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Bobby..."

"Tell your folks Merry Christmas for me. Good night."

He ended the call and turned off the phone. He rested his head on the steering wheel. _Shit_. Why had he done that? He really needed to spend time with her. But he refused to let his bad humor ruin her holiday. He would never let his perception of his own needs negatively impact his partner. She deserved happiness, and he was nowhere near happy tonight. Of course, now he felt worse, but it was his own doing. Alex had a close-knit, happy family, and she should be with them, not with him. Shifting into drive, he pulled back onto the road and headed home.


	5. Friendship

He was lying on the couch, arm beneath his head, watching the ceiling. He'd changed from his suit into sweat pants and a t-shirt. He could have found something on television, but he wasn't really in the mood. He wasn't in the mood for much. His third drink was propped on his belly and his mind was all over the map. Typical Christmas.

He frowned at the knock on his door. Who the hell could that be? He wasn't expecting anyone, and who in their right mind would venture out in this snow on Christmas? He rolled off the couch, setting his glass beside the bottle on the coffee table, and went to the door. For a minute he just stared at her, watching the snow melt into her hair. Her face was red from the cold, and she looked...beautiful. He struggled with himself for a minute longer, until she said, "Are we going to stand in the hall staring at each other, or are you going to let me in?"

"Oh, sorry, come on in."

He stepped out of the doorway and let her pass into the apartment, taking her coat as she slid out of it. She turned to face him. "Are you going to tell me what's going on in that head of yours?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Because I don't understand you right now. Why'd you tell me to stay at my folks? We had plans."

"I...I just didn't think you needed to be with me tonight, that's all."

She noted the bottle on the table. "Bad visit?"

"You could say that."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head, and she wasn't surprised. He never wanted to talk about it. "Look," she said. "I'm sorry you had a bad day, but why take it out on me?"

"Take it out...how am I doing that?"

"Sit down, Bobby. I need to talk to you."

Oh, hell...he hated conversations that began that way. They never turned out well. "Eames..."

"No, we are going to discuss this. Now sit down before I knock you down."

She was getting irritated now. He looked surprised, but he sat down. She sat beside him. He averted his eyes, refusing to look at her. She sighed. When he decided to withdraw, she had always let him go, respecting his need to remain in his own mind. But tonight, she wasn't going to do that. Tonight, she was going to get an answer. "I don't understand you."

"I've heard that before." Too many times...from every partner who left after not giving him a chance. She had at least given him a chance...

"So make me understand."

Make her understand? What could she possibly mean by that? "How am I supposed to do that?"

"You use words, genius. You're good with words. Find the words that can explain what's going on inside you."

"I have no idea where I would even start, if I was inclined to even do it."

Which he was not, she was certain. Time to change tactics and approach him from a different direction. "Ok, let's start with this: Why are you pushing me away?"

That one was easy, and he replied almost before he gave it any thought. "Because it's Christmas. You love the holiday. It's always been a happy one for you, hasn't it?"

She could only remember one Christmas that hadn't been...the one right after her husband had been killed. "Yes, but what does that have to do with you changing our plans? How the hell does that make for a happier Christmas for me? I was looking forward to it, Bobby."

"You were?" He risked a look at her. Her face was open, honest. She really had been looking forward to it. God, he'd screwed up again.

"Yes, you idiot. Look, you are going to have to get used to the fact that we are friends and I really do care about you. I _enjoy_ spending time with you, doing things with you. That's what friends do."

Friends? He started to relax, realizing this wasn't an 'I just can't handle you anymore' speech. "I know, but...I just wasn't in a good mood and I didn't want to bring you down."

"Did it ever occur to you that I might bring you up?"

"Uh, no. It didn't." He knew he'd wanted to be with her, but it never crossed his mind that she would be the one to moderate his mood and not the other way around.

"That figures." She got up and went into the kitchen, saying as she went, "Am I right in assuming you haven't had dinner?"

"I guess."

She peeked around the wall. "Yes or no?"

"Yes or no what?"

She sighed. "'I guess' is not an acceptable answer, Goren. Do you want something to eat or not?"

"Didn't you already eat?"

"Don't make me come over there and smack you, dammit."

For the first time that day, he smiled. "I can make my own dinner, Eames. I don't expect you to cook for me."

"And it would surprise me if you did. I'm going to take that as a yes, then, and we're going to have something to eat."

"Another dinner? Where are you going to put it?"

"It's probably going to go right to my hips, which will mean an extra hour in the gym every day for the next month."

Disturbing as it was on so many levels to him, he was enjoying the pictures she was putting into his mind. He got up, picked up the bottle, and went into the kitchen with her. She watched as he put the bottle up in the cabinet. "How much did you have tonight?"

"Not much. I found something better to do."

"Oh? Like what?"

He leaned against the counter and smiled again. She was pleased to see the smile touch his eyes. "A friend stopped by for dinner."

"And a movie," she reminded.

"Ok. Have you decided what we're going to watch?"

"A traditional Christmas movie. Guess."

"_How the Grinch Stole Christmas_?"

She laughed. She knew he was playing, and she joined the game. "Guess again."

"What do I get if I guess it right?"

"A pat on the back?"

From her, he'd take a pat anywhere. His dark mood was gone, and he was feeling better now. "_A Christmas Carol_?" he tried again.

"You're teasing me," she accused.

He was. He knew which movie she wanted to watch. "_It's A Wonderful Life_," he said with certainty.

She looked surprised. "You say that like you know..."

"I do know."

"How?"

"Last year you told me every year you go to your parents' with all your siblings, have an afternoon dinner and exchange gifts. Once the little ones are in bed, everyone sits around and watches _It's A Wonderful Life_. Since they're probably doing that about now, I figured that is the movie you'd want to watch."

She was amazed. "You remembered that?"

"What I remember would surprise you."

He was right about that. He surprised her every day with what was in that amazing mind of his. She opened the refrigerator. A half gallon of milk, a bottle of ketchup, a quart of orange juice and a six-pack of beer. She opened the freezer. A pound of ground beef and a half gallon of chocolate ice cream, which she'd bought last week when they were working a case. "Geez, Bobby. How do you live on this?"

He shrugged. "I eat out a lot. There's a few cans of tomato soup in the cupboard behind you."

"Tomato soup for Christmas dinner?"

"There are crackers, too."

"Oooh, a gourmet meal."

"It is for a bachelor."

"Ok, fine. The movie is in my coat pocket."

"I have it, too, Eames."

"Really?"

He'd gotten a copy of it when he found out it was one of her favorites, just in case she ever wanted to see it. He'd made it a habit to do that with her favorite movies. "Really."

"I would never guess that as a movie you liked."

"Why not?"

She looked at him. "You strike me as more an adventure movie lover. Or maybe war movies."

He laughed. "You're stereotyping me, Eames. I'll watch any movie you want to watch."

"You will?"

"Yes. I will."

"_Terms of Endearment_?"

He smiled. "If that's what you want to watch."

She leaned against the counter beside the stove and studied him. She honestly believed what he said. She finally had someone she could watch any movie with, and he wouldn't laugh at her. "Would you watch something like _Dr. Doolittle_ or _The Little Mermaid_?"

His eyes were bright with affection. "Sure." _As long as I watch it with you..._

She thought about that as she turned to the cupboard and pulled out a can of soup and a box of crackers. "You don't have much to offer in the way of drinks, either."

"Sorry I don't have chocolate milk and schnapps, but there's a six-pack of coke in the cupboard next to the sink and rum above the fridge."

She loved rum and coke, and again she studied her partner. She knew how observant he was. She just never imagined that his observations would extend to her and the things she liked. Now it struck her that there was every reason they should. It's what friends did. Like how she knew he loved veal parmigan and he'd developed a fondness for strong German beer when he was in the Army. She opened the can. "I still have to drive home."

"Not if you don't want to. You're welcome to stay. I...I would rather you did. It's still snowing, and I'd feel better if you stayed."

She smiled as she poured the soup into a pot. "All right, Bobby. If that's what you want." He tipped his head and looked at her. She glanced at him with a smile. "Get the movie ready. This will only take a few minutes."

He did as she asked, then came back into the kitchen in time to take the bowls from her. She got two cans of coke and the bottle of rum, which she noticed was still sealed. Retrieving two glasses, she filled them with ice, handing them to him with the coke when he came back into the kitchen. She grabbed the crackers and the rum and followed him into the living room, setting them on the table. She crossed the room to her coat and pulled a small package from her pocket. Sitting beside him on the couch, she handed it to him. He looked at it, then at her. "Eames?"

"I got that late in the summer, after your birthday, and it was torture to wait until now to give it to you. Merry Christmas."

He opened it and took out a blue stone, highly polished and carved into the form of a bear, sitting back on its haunches with its head tilted to the side in curiosity. He smiled and looked at her. She returned his smile. "It reminded me of you."

He laughed, turning the bear over in his hands. It was very well carved. Quietly, he said, "Lapis lazuli."

"What?"

"Lapis lazuli. That's what it's carved of. Do you know what lapis signifies?"

"I don't even know what it is."

"It's, uh, it's beautiful." He wasn't going to turn this into a geology lesson, though he easily could have. But he did want her to know what it meant. "It's a stone that symbolizes friendship...specifically harmony in friendship."

The wealth of information stored in his head never ceased to amaze her. "Then it was a good choice."

"A very good choice. Thank you, Eames." He rested his hand on her cheek. "Thank you...for everything."

She rested her hand on his, smiled, and pulled him into a hug. His arms encircled her and held her, and she marveled at how comfortable she felt in his arms. She loved her partner, and that was acceptable. She was certain he loved her, too. But her feelings were beginning to evolve beyond friendship and that troubled her. She was not going to do anything to risk their partnership and she worried that stronger feelings could create an undercurrent of tension between them; she didn't want that. Pulling back, though, she looked into his dark eyes and any thoughts of discomfort fled. No...there was no tension. He was able to put her completely at her ease.

He got up and set the bear on one of his bookshelves. She poured two drinks and picked up the remote, pressing play as he returned to the couch beside her. When they were done eating, he stacked the bowls, setting them to the side. He leaned back into the sofa, but he wasn't sure what to do with his arms. So he stretched them along the back of the couch, hoping she wouldn't think he was making a move, because he wasn't. Holding her drink in her hand, she tucked her legs under her and leaned against him, resting her head against his shoulder. He was surprised, but pleased. He let his arm come to rest around her, protectively. She was comfortable with him and she enjoyed being with him. She was his partner and his friend, and he couldn't ask for anything more. He wouldn't.

By the time the movie was over, she was sleeping. With little effort, he lifted her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom. Tucking her into his bed, he lightly kissed her temple and left the room. Cleaning up the remains of their dinner, he grabbed a pillow and blanket from the hall closet and made himself comfortable on the couch, flipping through the channels for something to watch until he was able to go to sleep.

Outside the window, the Christmas snow continued to fall over the city. Sirens punctuated the peace of the night and a new case was in the making for them, but for the time being, everything was quiet and peaceful in the apartment, and for a change, Bobby Goren was content.

_fin._


End file.
